Dream for Me
by remy7marie
Summary: Rogan. After a strange meeting outside a club, he seems to have become entranced by her. Will she show him that she's not as special as he thinks or will he convince her that she's more than she believes?
1. Tonight, I Am Feeling Cold

**A/N: um, hey. its been a while, almost a month. you may have noticed that all my stories are missing. and its just been this personal thing and someone trying to piss me off and "hurt" me and its just been a hellish sort of thing. (which is also why my penname thing is changed). so, this is my new story because i was dying to write something tonight. this is what happened. i dont quite know where im going with it. tell me what you think. if i continue it, ill let you know what you need to know story wise once i myself figure it out. :-) so enjoy and review.**

**disclaimer: for the whole story, i dont own anything. **

**chapter one**

The brick wall against her back was solid, sturdy. The most stability she had felt in a long time. Her shoulders left bare from the white tank top were glistening with sweat in the pale streetlight outside the alley behind the club.

She looked down at her simple denim mini skirt – as modest as mini can be described, of course – and her sweat-soaked tank top, and she frowned. This can't be the same person who had left her apartment a mere three hours ago. Was it possible for this much to have changed in less than one hundred and eighty minutes?

This simple thought made her stomach churn and she slid down the wall, not flinching at all from the pain she felt with the rough bricks scraping her bare skin. She clutched her stomach desperately, silently willing it to calm, at least for now, but her body seemed to have a mind of her own.

As her mind raced, as thoughts were pushed to the front of her mind and consciousness, she bent over to her side and threw up on the cement; the drinks, the cheap appetizers, the memories from the past few hours.

Her ears were ringing from the fast, upbeat techno that had been blaring through the club speakers full blast for the past hour and a half.

She was sweaty, the result of being smack dab in the middle of hundreds of dancing college kids, in a small room that had to be over maximum occupancy.

Her hands were clammy, she was shaking. All of this from a simple dinner invite. Obviously, first dates were no longer the simple dinner and a movie they once were.

From the street she heard voices and braced her back against the wall, using her feet to push herself up against the wall. The last thing she wanted was to see people.

"Did anyone hear someone throwing up?" she heard a male voice ask.

"Should we have?" a different male voice asked.

She watched their silhouettes dance across the red bricks, seeing three guys and a girl with curly hair, all standing under the streetlight.

She slowly sat back down on the ground, crouched out of their view. She craned her neck to the other end of the alley, hearing the back door to the club open slowly.

"Hey, man, I said not to bring that to this door. Not my fault. Oh, come on!" The door closed again with the man walking back inside the club. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, but felt the bile rise in her throat for the second time that night and she got sick again.

Her arms her shaking as they held up her small frame from the ground, and suddenly, someone was there. A strong someone. Grasping her elbows, pulling her up, only to lean her back down against the wall at her apparent dizziness. This person brushed stray hair off her sweaty forehead.

"Easy there, don't need to throw up again." It was a man, maybe a little older than she was from what she could see through her half-open eyes.

Another someone, the girl, had brought some sort of cloth and was wiping her face in her dazed state. She saw the other two in the background talking, though she only caught bits of their conversation, and their not-so-subtle glances at her.

"What do you think happened to her?"

"She looks like she's been through hell, mate."

"Subtle, Finn," the other replied, rolling his eyes.

The one holding her up grasped her elbows once again and she felt a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Safety? Relief? Enough of whatever it was to not notice a gasp from the girl next to her.

"Logan," this girl breathed, pointing to her shoulders, where the rough edges had scraped at her shoulders, "Look."

He looked down at the noticeable scratches, some bleeding, some just shining bright red in the dim light, and sighed. "What the hell happened to you?"

She smiled softly at the two of them, an ironic smile, one that sent chills down Logan's, or so he was called, she couldn't really be sure, spine. "First dates are a bitch these days, huh?"

Logan let out a chuckle as he supported her, "I'm Logan. We were walking by and heard you. Thought we'd give you a hand."

"Rory. I was just, uh, getting away from some people," she murmured.

"Well, where do you live; we can drop you off or is there somewhere we can take you? Oh, I'm Steph by the way," the girl said.

"I can just call a cab. It's really not that big of a deal." She winced slightly as Logan's arm hoisted her up under her arms, brushing her shoulders in the process. "I'm okay, really. Just a little," she searched for the appropriate word, "loud in there."

"Clearly it was more than that," one of the two guys who had fallen in step behind the three said.

"Colin," Steph said flatly, silencing him.

"Look," Rory said, attempting to pull out of Logan's support, "I'm really fine." She wobbled slightly on her own, brushing her hand along the side of the brick wall of the alley, "See? Fine."

She jumped at the vibrating in the pocket of her skirt and sighed, "Hello?" she said into the receiver.

"Are you going to be home tonight, hon?"

"Mom, hey. Um, yeah, I'm getting a cab right now. I'll be there in an hour."

"It's already two in the morning, Ror. Do you want me to come get you?"

"No, Mom, really. How about I just drive up early tomorrow morning. That way we can both get sleep and I save money on cab fare?"

"Well, I guess Willy Wonka can wait another night."

"That's nice of him to do." She was slower tonight, her mother noticed. Something was off.

"He loves me."

"I bet he does. But listen, I'm going to go. I'm beat and I just need to sleep."

"Mkay, talk to you later. Love you, hon."

"Love you, too." She slid the phone back into her pocket and brushed hair out of her face.

She steadied herself on the wall. "I should go. Thanks for your help, really. It was unnecessary, but appreciated. So, I guess I'll see you later."

She walked slowly out of the alley and tracked down a cab, easy to do in the busy Friday night Hartford scene. The others watched her climb hesitantly into the cab before turning to each other and shrugging.

"Wasn't that the Gilmore girl, Richard and Emily Gilmore's granddaughter?" Steph asked, causing the three to turn and look at her.


	2. The Paper Mask

**A/N: wow, i did not expect such a response to this. thank you sooo much. i dont quite know where im going with it yet, but please hang with me as i figure it out? i think i have a pretty good idea. theres not much to know about it, other than they are all the same age, because that one year difference kinda throws me off. but other than that, yeah. so once again, thank you for the reviews and i hope you like the next chapter. enjoy and review. **

**chapter two**

He had watched her climb into the cab, almost glad she was gone. What in the world had he been thinking – other than the fact that he hadn't been, in fact, thinking. Compassion isn't the nature for guys like him. Guys like him. Right. Playboys with trust funds galore and their whole lives preplanned for them – compassion, hell, feelings simply cause too many problems. Not to mention attachment to things that weren't meant to be theirs.

Like now. Logan Huntzberger was officially screwed.

Colin, Finn, Steph and he had been walking out of the same club this girl – Rory? – had walked out of, only different exits, apparently. Prima417. It was a high-profile club, full of the Hartford elite – gossipy, wealthiest, the most wanted bachelors and bachelorettes – he and his friends usually tried to avoid but were inevitably sucked into. Which was why they were leaving.

They had just passed the alley she was nearly unconscious in and he heard her coughing. The curiosity he blamed on the reporter in his blood got the best of him.

She was teetering on her hands, knees folded underneath her, nearly collapsing. He didn't even know what came over him; next he knew, he was pulling her up and trying to help her. Steph had stopped at the corner drug store and gotten a wet cloth to wipe her face.

Suddenly, after getting rid of the drinks from her system, she seemed to have gotten, at least a little, better. Well enough to walk, or wobble.

And then those scratches on her back. He knew it was the brick, but honestly. Did she not feel it? And what the hell would cause her to go to an alley at two in the morning?

Now, standing outside a Yale classroom, he shook the thoughts from his head. She was gone. Move along, new girl. What did she say her name was? He couldn't keep track anymore.

It was pointless to expect that much – for him to remember any other girl's name – not since that night.

--------

She wandered aimlessly through the campus. Had it really already been almost a month since that night? Three weeks, four days, eight hours, 13 minutes, she counted silently in her head.

The line for coffee was short, thank God, but she still had to wait. She hated waiting; never had the patience nor the attention span for it. She tapped her feet, alternating between right and left, before she was bumped into. She whipped around quickly and mumbled an apology, barely glancing at who ran into her.

She looked, didn't see.

"Hey, you said your name was Rory, right?" Logan asked this girl. "It's me, Logan? Outside the club." She had tuned out.

_"It's me, Ror. Come on," _a voice echoed in her head. Who is was she couldn't place. She knew it, but she didn't _know_ it. She could feel hands on her thighs holding her down, sweaty and huge, nothing pleasant to the touch. She didn't know her eyes had glazed over and she was lost in this memory. A soft nudge on the arm to move forward and she was pulled from her daze.

She nodded her head with a tight smile before turning back around, asking for her usual, before leaving that boy behind wondering he could have possibly said wrong in the dozen or so words he said to her.

After she had gotten into the cab, she had been dropped off her off-campus apartment, avoided questions from her roommate, Paris Gellar, and went to bed, not sleeping a wink, until the early hours of dawn where she then dragged herself out of bed to visit her mother in her hometown of Stars Hollow.

"Rory Gilmore, you better be back by dinner because I am not going on this dotcom date that you set up, I might add, by myself!"

She almost smiled at the memory of logging on to and setting her OCD perfectionist roommate up with a fellow Yale student, ironically enough. She simply agreed and walked out the door.

Her mother, her best friend, namesake, knew her daughter wasn't herself. She didn't pry; it wasn't her nature. But it wasn't Rory's nature to be off, either. She didn't reveal anything to her mother, and she hasn't since.

Her façade is wearing thin, and she's the only one who can't see how much it is really changing her.

She needed someone who didn't know her to fix her. But how could someone who had no idea what she was like fix what had been broken so brutally, harshly, mercilessly? You avoid what you're not familiar with.

Now, lying on her bed, a CD mix playing softly in the background, she was given too much time to think.

And that guy – who the hell did he think he was? Was that an attempt at a friendly conversation starter? It didn't work too well in her book.

She looked up when there was a soft knock on her bedroom door. It seemed like everyone had been on tiptoes around her for the past weeks. Paris had been less, well, Paris and her mother stopped asking her if she was okay, and if she was absolutely, positively sure, knowing she wouldn't get the truth anyways.

Paris was standing in her doorway, "I'm going out with some people."

"Finn?" Rory asked with a smile. Finn, Paris's dotcom date, whom she now was going to "social engagements" with. He had done it as a practical joke to see if it was possible for him to pick up more girls, or so he had told Paris. Finn didn't know that it was Rory in the alley that night, or he hasn't led her to believe he knew.

"Yeah, and some of his friends. He said I should bring you. He thinks you're emo, or clinically depressed."

"Thanks, Paris."

"Really, you should come. I mean, I'm actually being social. You don't want to miss this Kodak moment."

"What are you guys doing?" Rory rolled her eyes.

"You'll come?"

"No, I asked what you were doing."

Paris sighed, "Chinese. Please come."

She rolled off the bed, "I'm not dressing up."

"That's fine. Just put on a sweater or something."

Rory looked at her jeans and black flats, plain white t-shirt and grabbed a green cardigan from the chair behind her desk. She smoothed her hair and examined her gray eye shadow, using her finger to fix some smeared.

Finn was already waiting outside with a black SUV when the two girls met him outside five minutes later.

"Rory, love!" He kissed her cheek. "He won't stop talking about you," he whispered in her ear.

"Who?" Rory asked, her head cocked to one side.

He jerked his head back to the car, "Logan. Paris, doll, you look gorgeous."

"Save that for your other girls, Finn."

"Only you, love." He held open the front passenger door for Paris and the back door for Rory, who slid in next to the man of the hour himself, Logan Huntzberger.

Did Logan talk to him about her; did he explain to Finn who she was.

Now, more than she had in the past weeks, put up her shield and prayed that the mask she had worked so dutifully to keep up, and was quickly deteriorating, would last her the night.


	3. So She Would Not Cry

**A/N: thank you for the reviews! meh, sorry this took a little while. i didnt know where i wanted to go with this. i kinda like this chapter for some odd reason, im not quite sure why. so, tell me what you think. enjoy and review. **

**chapter one title...lyrics from the secret's in the telling by dashboard confessional  
chapter three title...lyrics from dusk and summer by dashboard confessional (i love their new cd if you couldnt tell...)  
whole story title...song name by eisley..dream for me  
**

**chapter three **

She smiled slightly in spite of herself at Finn's exaggerated and mostly fabricated story, the falseness pointed out to her by Logan who caught her eye, raised his eyebrow, smirked, and shook his head. All in that order.

There was the four of them gathered around a circular booth in the back of a small Chinese restaurant. It was Paris, Finn, Logan, and Rory; the rest had gone home hours ago. But here they were, going on midnight, drinking beers and trading stories of times past.

It was almost like they were all old and they were recounting the good ol' days of when they were once too invincible to not live their lives, too fearless to not jump off a cliff into water six hundred feet below.

Now, they all knew better. Recounting the past days and maybe a few more pranks and adventures were all they had left before big franchises came into their possession, before planning social parties took up twenty hours of their day, and suddenly having only twenty four hours in a day was never, ever enough.

"Rory, love," Finn's voice tore her glazed over gaze that the tiles on the table and she blinked a few times to refocus her vision. "We're going to go to a bar. Coming?"

She smiled and shook her head. "No, I think I should just go home."

"I'll take you back," Logan said without a second thought to it. It was the gentlemanly thing to do. Plus, Paris and Finn could spend some time together.

"Oh, no, that's not necessary. I'll just call a cab."

The same words she had spoken to him a month ago resounded in his head. Only, it was a completely different scenario. She actually knew who he was, she wasn't throwing up and barely to stand, and he was more intrigued and confused by her than that first night.

She stood, grabbing her purse from the seat next to her and smoothed her hands unnecessarily over her jeans. Logan followed suit, standing next to her.

"Cabs aren't safe at night. Please, just let me walk to back."

She smiled softly, and nodded, waving to Paris and Finn before letting him lead her out of the restaurant, a hand placed firmly, but lightly on the small of her back.

They walked in the direction to her apartment complex off campus, a good twenty minute walk from the restaurant; Finn was taking the SUV with Paris.

"I envy you," she said cautiously, gauging his expression to her words.

He laughed slightly, "Why?"

She turned to him a little as she walked, "Control. You seem to have all these priorities in line and know what you want. It must be nice," she concluded with a nod of her head.

"You don't have priorities?" he asked, completely disregarding this misinterpretation she seemed to have developed of him; he would correct her later, at a time when he could clearly show her the wrongs in her statement.

She bit her lip, "No, I do. Goals, dreams, _aspirations,_" she said with a laugh, "I have them. They're just a little fuzzy right now. Hard to see, if you will."

"Were they always like this?"

She shook her head, eyes wider than they had been, as if this question hit her in the gut, unexpected and sharp. "No," she whispered.

"What happened that night, exactly? I mean, I've seen you around campus before, your grandparents think you hung the moon. You weren't always like this."

"And what am I like?" she asked, not only avoiding his question, but also taking a turn to ask questions, a feeling she seemed to like now.

"You're," he paused to search for the word, stopped walking, even, "detached."

"Detached," she repeated for clarification.

He nodded and continued walking, "It's like you're hardly here. You don't seem happy, or excited about anything. You don't write articles anymore, you don't go out anymore, you don't drink or just relax. You're just quiet and half living."

"And what you do is called living? I lied, Logan, you don't have priorities. You have nightly plans, spur of the moment."

He sighed. She knew him better than originally thought. "So you lie now, too?"

"I thought I knew you to be someone different. I guess not." She shrugged as if it didn't bother her. She contemplated what he had described her as.

"What was I like before?" she asked quietly, curiosity getting the better of her.

"I've only seen you a few times; it's not like I stalked you for every facial expression."

She laughed and he looked at her, the first time he had heard her laugh, really laugh. "Tell me from what you did see."

"You were," he once again thought for the word, "there. Happy. I saw you on the phone once, in the coffee line, and you were laughing at someone and you were talking about ninety miles a minute. It was entertaining."

She smiled softly, almost nostalgic. "It was probably Mom."

"And when I happened to go to the paper, you'd be arguing with Paris or Doyle, one of the two, and you always got your way."

"Are you sure you didn't stalk me?" she asked teasingly.

"Believe me, I'm sure. I just notice things."

"I was wrong about you," she said softly.

He stopped walking. "What happened?"

She kept walking before turning around and stopping so she was a few steps ahead of him. She shook her head, biting that lip.

"Rory, you can tell me."

Another shake of the head.

She pointed up, "This is me."

He hadn't even realized they were at the apartments. He sighed and nodded his head, "I guess it is."

"Thank you for walking me back. Sorry if it messed up your plans."

"Nope, no messing up done here."

She smiled and he leaned forward to place a kiss on her forehead. "Be careful."

She pulled back quickly, as if he had burned her, and she forced herself to ignore the tingling she felt all through her veins. He watched her unlock the door and go inside towards the elevators and climbed inside before turning and walking to his own apartment in the complex right next door.

---------

She was watching old _Boy Meets World_ reruns when Paris came in at two later that night. The whole time she had been watching TV, she replayed his words in her mind. _You were happy._ Had she really changed that much?

_It's me, Ror._ She couldn't tell the voice still. Haunting her, she didn't know who it was anymore. She didn't know who she was anymore.

"Hey," Paris said quietly, slipping off her shoes by the door and dropping onto the couch by Rory's feet in the space left after Rory had laid down.

"You're home late."

"Finn made me drink his favorite drinks."

"Aw, two alcoholics in the making. How adorable."

"Shut up, Gilmore." Rory smirked. "How was the walk home?"

She shrugged, "Unevenful."

Paris nodded and looked to the episode playing, "Oh, I love this one."

_"Eric?" Jack asks._

"No, not Eric. Not anymore."

"Ok, that's fine."

Jack leaves and comes back inside the Student Union, "Ok, so, what's your name now?"

"Plays With Squirrels."

"Do you think we could change our names to something like that?" Rory asks.

Paris smiles, its almost like Rory was herself again, with stupid, dorky questions like this. "Maybe. You should try it."

Rory nodded her head confidently, "Maybe I will."

"Glad that's settled." They both turned back to the TV.

_"Lose one friend, lose all friends, lose yourself."_


	4. This Bottle of Wine

**A/N: im so sorry its taken so long. i really havent been motivated at all. some of you may have noticed that i started a new story yesterday. and then i was browsing through my files today and i saw this half written so i finished it up and decided to post it. its hard for me to say when ill be posting next. hopefully soon. also, i know some are getting annoyed at me (sorry) for my not updating _that summer_. dont worry, i will! finish it. i just dont really know how i want to end it. i need to get motivated. grr. anyways, here is chapter four, a little longer than usual so yay. also, thank you for all the reviews on the last chapters:) enjoy and review.  
**

**chapter four**

There was an uneasy feeling cast over the entire room of elite partygoers; someone knew something others didn't. Nevertheless, it went ignored and everyone went about their duties, introducing themselves and entertaining the idea of maybe picking up a million dollar corporation just because their bored.

Logan Huntzberger sighed as he leaned back at the bar, open and free, of course, his elbows propping him up against the mahogany wood. He scanned the crowd of blue-blooded guests – millionaires, billionaires, old money, new money (though no money is better than new money, everyone knew), CEOs of international companies, newspaper moguls, oil investors, entrepreneurs, everyone. Everyone who mattered, that is.

And just who did he see pressed up against a marble pillar? Rory Gilmore. She was dressed in a spring green chiffon dress, a deep V-neck, with each strap tied at the top of her shoulders, and to accentuate her small waist was a silver beaded band, which matched her silver 1950's vintage shoes. For not liking society, her attire sure begged to differ.

He smiled at himself, shaking his head, not knowing if he should be cursing God or thanking him for this luck, or lack thereof, of running into her. He walked around the room, it was social hour first, followed by a four course meal, and then more socializing and business deals afterwards, and sidled next to her.

"Hiding from someone?" he whispered in her ear, covered by her brunette hair falling to her shoulders in waves, bangs brushed perfectly to the side. She jumped slightly and moved from the curved structure.

"Yep, I apparently didn't do a good job since you found me," she said, rolling her eyes and he put a hand to his heart in fake pain. It was amazing to her how he could go from nice, caring guy one night to arrogant, cocky, God's-gift-to-women the next.

He nodded to a guest, one of his father's workers, and looked back to her, catching her blue eyes with his brown. "You look beautiful," he told her.

"Does that work on every girl?"

"It doesn't apply to every girl," he said simply.

She laughed, "You're horrible."

"Not to seem like I don't want you here, because I do, but what are you doing here?"

She sighed, looking around, "My grandmother's strict orders." She turned to him. "She feels it's necessary for me to go to all these, even though in two years, I'll be so far away from this, where I am, they won't even know what champagne is."

"You can't get away from it," he told her seriously, as if he knew from experience. "It'll find you, or you'll find yourself back here. If you're blue blooded, you're blue blooded for life."

"Then I guess it's a good thing I'm not blue blooded."

He snorted as he took a sip of the whiskey he brought with him from the bar, "You're more blue blooded than all of us, Gilmore."

She shook her head in protest, "I wasn't raised in this. And if I have a family, I refuse to raise them in this. This whole society is barbaric."

"Welcome to Hartford," he said, with his arm raised in an open gesture.

"I should go," she said quickly, wanting to end this conversation.

"You can't leave; social hour has just started. The Mrs. Gilmore would throw a fit," he said in a mock-condescending tone.

She looked around again, "I really don't want to be here."

"Come on, it's not so bad." He looked almost skeptical as he said it.

"You're a horrible liar."

"I don't do it often."

"Oh, see, that was a good one. Congratulations. You can lie."

"Ouch. You're on a roll tonight."

"It's the first insulting thing I've said to you!"

He smiled and gestured towards the bar, "Care for a drink, Miss Gilmore?"

She smiled and he wrapped his arm around her waist, "As long as you don't get me smashed, Mr. Huntzberger. I won't be taken advantage of."

There was a sort of sadness in her eyes, a hidden secret that could on be seen if you were actually looking for something. He almost missed it, a passing glance at her beautiful face and he saw it as she spoke.

"I wouldn't dream of it. And neither should anyone else," he added.

They reached the bar and she simply ordered white wine, something easy and simple, and she took a seat at one of the bar stools and turned to face him.

"How did you do it?" she asked him seriously.

"How did I what?"

"Grow up in this. I would have died."

"You get used to it. Believe me, when it's expected of you, you find a way to live," he said bitterly.

She dropped the subject and looked at all the tuxedos and taffeta and cringed. She tipped her glass and polished off the drink and motioned to the bartender for another one. Logan raised his eyebrow at her, and she waved him off.

A faint clinking could be heard of glasses. Dinner was served.

They ended up sitting across from each other at a long table, and dinner was full of avoided glances through all four courses. She didn't think she had ever been to a meal that had seemed to last this long.

As they made their way through dessert, she felt him accidentally step on her open toe and she winced.

"Shit, sorry," he mumbled the curse so others wouldn't hear him.

She laughed. "This is ridiculous. Does dinner need to last for two hours?" she asked in a voice just as low.

"Please, this is nothing. I went to one last year where we were sitting here for four hours."

"I don't believe you."

"Fine, your loss." He threw her his stunning smile and she blushed. She motioned for the waiter to get her another drink.

"Rory," he leaned across the table to her, "this is your sixth glass."

She shushed him. "I'm fine."

Dinner ended a half hour later and they were all back in the large room where drinks were served earlier that night. Rory was nowhere to be found. He wandered around the whole mansion looking for her.

He walked past a door creaked open slightly, a beam of light falling on the marble floor. He pushed the door open softly, hearing someone cough, and he opened up the door to a bathroom. Rory was sitting on the floor, propped up on the toilet, a champagne colored flask open next to her, tipped on its side, apparently open.

"Rory," he breathed.

"Don't," she whispered. "I don't want you to see me like this."

"I've seen you worse," he reminded her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and spoke, her voice low, "Don't mention that to me."

He crouched down next to her as she closed her eyes again, resting her head on the rim of the toilet bowl, and rubbed soothing circles in her back.

"Come on," he said, lifting her slowly off the floor, only to receive groans of protest from her in response. "Let's get you home."

"No, not home. Paris will never let me hear the end of it. She thinks something's wrong with me already."

"Then you'll come home with me." Her eyes shot open wide, a look of panic crossing her face.

"No, no," he said, reassuring her. "Nothing will happen. Just to sleep tonight and then you can go home tomorrow."

"I don't want to burden you."

"Stop. You won't. Now come on." He wrapped an arm around her waist and hoisted her up and she leaned into him instinctively, relying on him mostly to walk.

"Uh, alcohol bad," she mumbled into his shoulder as he guided her out of the mansion through a back door, away from the money hungry business men and trophy wives in the rooms next door.


	5. I Feel Like a Shadow

chapter five

Her stomach had emptied, and now she was just left feeling tired as he led her to the elevator of his apartment building.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "You should be out tonight. Not taking care of some poor girl. Again."

He only pulled her closer, his hand tightening around her waist. He remained silent as he hit the button to the top floor, where his penthouse was.

The elevator dinged as they reached his floor and he switched his grip from her waist to holding her hand, pulling her through the doorway. She turned around slowly, taking it all in.

It was neat, very neat, and clean, too. There were leather couches facing a plasma TV, a pool table on one side of the room, a mini bar on the other side, and a swinging door to the kitchen and a long hallway to spare bedrooms and a staircase up to what she assumed was the master bedroom.

He moved her to the couch, telling her to stay there, "I'm going to find you clothes to change into. You can't sleep in that dress."

He went up the stairs to his room and she looked around. There were a few, okay more than a few, bookshelves lined with novels. She got up slowly to go browse. She ran her fingertips down the spine.

"Rory?" She jumped at her voice and turned around.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yep, just browsing." He handed her an old pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

"These are mine, but they're old, so I'm sure they won't be huge."

She smiled in return, "Anything but this dress."

His eyebrow raised and he smirked and she blushed at the innuendo. "So maybe not anything," she corrected.

His smirk stayed in place as he ushered her down the hall to the bathroom. "You can stay in this room," he said. "I think it's the only one Finn and Colin haven't destroyed."

She nodded as she slipped into the bathroom he pointed out to her and shut the door behind her. It, like the rest of the rooms, was immaculate and looked like it had had a lot of money spent on it. What else could you expect from him?

She slid out of the dress and pulled on the sweats and long sleeved shirt, also taking her hair out of its bobby pin confines.

She stepped out of the bathroom into the dark hallway. She could see him sitting on the leather couch, feet propped up on a coffee table, and the neon lights from the TV flickering across his face. It was well past midnight, and yet, here he was, in his party habits of staying up until all hours of the night. She walked to the end of the hallway and stood, with one hand propped on the corner of the two walls to hold her up.

"Thank you," she said softly.

He smirked, ignoring her statement, "The clothes actually fit quite nicely."

"Are you, like, calling me fat?" she asked mockingly, her voice sounding like a valley girl.

He chuckled. "Here she is, drunk, and still making jokes."

She sighed dramatically, "What can I say, I'm a girl of many talents."

"So I'm figuring out."

She blushed at his comment. "You going to bed soon?" she asked.

"Are you going to be joining me?" he asked jokingly.

She turned around to go to the room he declared hers to sleep in, "You shouldn't stay up so late all the time." She walked into the room before he called her back.

"Are you okay? I was just kidding about the joining me thing."

"No, I know. I'm just tired. Good night," she said softly.

"Goodnight."

She shut the door softly behind her and crawled into the warm bed.

It smelled like him, ironically enough, for it being a guest room. His cologne filled the sheets she lay in, giving her the feeling of being surrounded by him as she drifted off to sleep, tired from the evening, not even remembering the day before she left for that damn dinner.

Outside the room, Logan got comfortable on the couch, where he would be sleeping. As far as Rory knew, he had given her just another guest room, not his room. He knew things would be different if she otherwise.

And so, she slept in his room. It was dark so she didn't see his things in the room. He would sleep on the couch, as Colin and Finn had both had bedmates in the other guest rooms, his main reason for not giving her one of those. If she asks the next morning, he can easily tell her that he fell asleep watching TV, never letting her know the difference.

He shifted his arm under his head and closed his eyes, praying for easy sleep tonight.

She awoke some hours later with the early morning sun, barely there. It took a moment to remember where she was before the night came swimming back to her. She took a deep breath before deciding a plan of action and putting it into play.

When he woke a few hours later, she was gone.


	6. When the Truth Gets Scary

chapter six

He had called her numerous times, only to receive her answering machine – _Hey, It's Rory. I'm not here right now, leave a message! -_, and soon after she got so fed up from hearing her annoying ring tone, it went straight to her messages, without even ringing. She had turned off her phone, sliding it out of view under her bed.

She massaged her temples with her forefingers – what had compelled her to take a course on the development of China was beyond her – as she read over the text for what seemed like the hundredth time that last hour.

A week ago tonight she was at that stupid party for some stupid fundraiser with that stupid boy. Logan, Logan, Logan. He just wouldn't leave her alone. She hadn't even talked to him in a week and it was still all she thought about. What did he know? Who has he talked to? Does he even care?

There was a sharp knock on her door before Paris stuck her head through. "Hey," she whispered.

"Hey."

"What's up?" she said, her voice just as low.

Rory raised an eyebrow, "Why are we whispering?"

"Oh," Paris's voice returned to normal, "I just thought it was the whispering mood."

Rory's eyebrows furrowed together, "Huh?"

"Nothing. But uh, what's-his-face is out here."

"Who would that be?"

"Logan," she said, her voice low, the name mumbled.

Rory looked back to her textbook, "Ah, that what's-his-face."

"I can tell him to leave." Paris's face changed, like she was about to go kick his ass. "Really, I've been working on Tae-Bo."

Rory smiled, "I'm sure you have, but it's okay. Send him in."

Paris turned around and Rory smacked herself on the head. What was she thinking? This was like walking into the wolves' den. What in the world would she say…

"Hey," he said, his voice quiet, like he didn't want to disturb her.

"Hey." Her hands were folded in her lap, though she was wringing them together, trying to find something to say, something to do, to make it less awkward.

"Wow, this is weird," he said after a few minutes pause. His hands were shoved causally in his jean – designer, of course – pockets and he was just standing there, standing there as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Though his words deceived him.

"Yeah, I uh, don't know what to say," she said stupidly. "I mean, obviously, I'm not talking so that must mean I don't have anything to say and it just makes it ten times worse and I think that now I should maybe just stop talking because I ramble when I'm nervous and this is just not working in my favor right now."

He smirked, the weird feeling that hung between them somehow lifting slightly. "I make you nervous?"

She blushed, "Don't be a jerk. I may pull Paris back in here to kick your ass."

He lifted his hands, "No offense meant." He sank into her desk chair and glanced at her briefly, sitting on her bed before plunging in.

"What _happened_ to you?"

"I, uh, when?"

"What do you mean 'when'? When you threw up in the bathroom and stayed at my apartment. You don't always have to run you know. You can let people help you. You don't always have to be strong."

"Are you done yet?"

"No-"

"Yes, you are. You don't get to assume what I am and what I do with my life. You don't know me, Logan. And I don't need help; I am just fine."

"Oh, yeah, that's really going to work. You're too pretty to have to lie for a living."

She brushed off the back-handed compliment. "Yeah, well, at least I won't be lying to people for the rest of my life; wish I could say the same for you. When are you going to tell your father that you don't want to take over the company?"

"Rory," he said, his voice warning, sharp. "This isn't about me."

"I don't want it about me! So just stop! Stop trying to take care of me, to help me. I'm fine, I don't need it. I've made it this far on my own."

"Fine, I won't try to help you. But you sure as hell will tell me where you went that night. I helped you; I deserve to know."

"That's what you do? You help them so they feel like they owe it to you to tell you things? Are you serious?"

His face stilled at her accusation. "No, I don't, I just, damn, you just left."

"Yeah, well, you've had enough girls leave your apartment in the morning to be surprised. Don't be so naïve, Logan. That's not something I would have associated with you, but honestly, you expected me to stay? After what you saw? I don't think so."

He stood there silent while she pulled her textbook into her lap, "Please leave."

He walked out of her room, slamming the door shut behind him, and walking past Paris, who had overheard it all, and pulling their front door closed so hard, Rory felt the wall her bed was leaning against shake.

Paris walked in tentatively, walking on eggshells, weary of what Rory's mood would be after that.

Rory was changing her shirt, pulling a small black tee over her bra. "I want to go out. Know any parties?"

Paris nodded, grabbing her jacket and clutch, before leading Rory out.

----------

Here they were, sitting in a circle. It was just her luck that right when she walked into the party, through the door of the match-box sized apartment, Logan would be the first one she saw pressed up against a wall by some blonde. She visibly passed him and rolled her eyes, plucking a beer off the counter.

Now, surrounded by a bunch of strangers, besides of course, Logan and Paris in a drunken game of Truth or Dare, mixed with Spin the Bottle. How very juvenile of us, she thought randomly. Whoever the bottle landed on had to choose truth or dare, and if one chickened out, drink a shot and kiss someone the circle picked. She felt herself laughing at the stupidity of the game.

Some spun the empty beer bottle and it landed on her. The crowd cheered and cat-called before Logan – ever the popular one – quieted them down.

"Truth or Dare?" he asked, his eyes taunting her, daring her to choose.

"Truth," she said, laughing at someone getting high in the corner.

"Okay," he said after people booed and hissed at her less-than-daring choice. "What happened the first night we found you?"


	7. Bravest Thing in the World

A/N: new chapter, yay. okay, the end is really cliched and overdone, but im sorry! just bear with me. thank you. :-) also, i have about half a chapter of "if youll stay in my past" done so expect that soon-ish. gracias. enjoy and review.

Parties were overrated. Someone should tell the world, because all they did for her was screw with her life just a little bit more. Her face had faltered slightly with the question before she put on a brave face and circled the rim of her plastic beer cup with a dainty finger.

"Pass," she said firmly. There was a collective bout of boos and hisses, but she simply picked up a shot from the middle of the floor and tipped it back. "Who?" she asked the group, asking who she had to kiss. She spun the bottle quickly and rolled her eyes when it fell on Logan.

"This is just my luck," she mumbled, moving in her inebriated state across the circle to where he was. She was directly in front of him, and he with a smirk on his face.

"It's not too late, Ace, you can still answer," he said tauntingly.

She smiled devilishly and moved forward, her lips hovering just above his, letting him take in her aphrodisiac scent, vanilla and alcohol. Her eyes locked on his and she smirked, "Still want me to back out?"

His eyes traveled over her lips, still in a smirk – one she probably learned from him, he can't be sure – and leaned forward, pushing his lips to hers. Her arms spread over his shoulders to wrap around his neck, and he pulled her slightly to him, causing her to tumble into his lap.

There were catcalls and loud whoops throughout the room, though they didn't hear any of it. Panic was the next thing she felt after this mind-blowing kiss. She pulled her lips from his and turned her head, her cheek resting slightly on his before using her hands on his shoulders to push herself off of him.

She stood quickly and grabbed her jacket from a nearby counter stool and walked out, shrugging her arms into the coat and slamming the door shut behind her.

"You shouldn't have asked her that," Paris said, her words slurring slightly. "That was mean, even for you, Huntzberger."

He couldn't have agreed more.

-----------

"I don't know what your deal is, mate," Finn said, plopping himself down on the plush couch of Logan's apartment.

Logan pushed his friend's feet off the leather, "Feet off."

"Don't be a sissy. If you like her, just go tell her."

"Finn, I'm not taking advice from you. One, I don't like her. Two, you're, as per usual, drunk."

Finn closed his eyes, smiling. "I know you. You like her, and it's completely understandable. She's a dish."

"Did you just call her a dish? I don't think I can be friends with you."

Logan sat in the chair next to the couch, leaning back to recline. It had been nearly a week from the party. He didn't know how she was doing. She was good at disappearing, he was noticing, as he realized his phone was off, she wouldn't let Paris tell him she was there, and refused to be seen on campus, instead hiding. Where, he didn't know, since he had yet to find her.

"Where's Colin?" Logan asked, hoping to get off the topic of him.

"Out. Don't try to change the subject. I might be drunk, but I'm not an idiot."

"Could have fooled me," Logan mumbled under his breath.

"I'm also not deaf," Finn said loudly. "She's got that whole dark and tortured thing going for her, which you seem to go far."

"She's not tortured, Finn," Logan said flatly. "I however, am. This conversation is hell."

Finn sat up, looking contemplative. "You think you can help her?"

"There's nothing wrong with her!" he exclaimed.

"Ah, so you see her flaws as a sort of perfection?"

"Finn!" he yelled. "I am not talking about this with you."

Finn lay back down. "Well, that was fun," he said smugly, proud of his way of coercing the truth from Logan and believed he had earned himself a nap.

Logan sighed, standing up and leaving Finn in his apartment. He had somewhere else to be. He couldn't just sit around here, waiting for Finn to come up with more genius ideas about Logan's affections, whether they were there or not, for Rory. This girl who was so messed up he couldn't even begin to unravel this tangle of strings she had woven single handedly.

So he went to the source. Her. Though, the chances of him being able to decipher anything she says without general knowledge of what happened was slim, the thought of seeing her made him feel so much better. Crazy, what it did to him.

-----------

He wouldn't find her there, he would later see. She had been staying at Stephanie's for the past week for ultimate reassurance that he wouldn't find her, though it should have been one of the first places he had looked. And at the present moment, Colin wasn't out with Steph. So her and Rory were sitting in the hot tub outside Steph's small little – but still elite and upscale – house.

She adjusted the strap of her bikini. "It's weird, you know."

Steph put the plate of chocolate cake she was eating on the ledge. "What is?"

Rory smiled. "You and Colin. You…falling in loveeee." She dragged out the word dramatically.

"Do you know what's weird? You and Logan."

She tensed and Steph sighed. "Rory, you can't ignore him forever."

"Not for forever. Just until graduation and I leave here and go to New York to get a job."

"And leave me here." Steph pouted and Rory laughed. "It seems like forever ago that we found you outside that bar."

"And now we're friends," Rory said with a shrug.

They were friends. They hung out pretty often, sometimes with Paris, sometimes not. Rory was one of the first to know about Steph and Colin's new relationship, sharing in the joy with her newfound friend.

"Can you," Steph stopped, looking at her friend, "Will you tell me what happened?"

Rory looked away to the next door neighbor's yard. She saw an old man sitting with his wife on a tire swing, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders.

"It…it started out fine, you know. Just a stupid date. I'm not really one for parties or dating, as I'm sure you've noticed, so everyone was really excited and just pushing for me to go out. So I went."

Steph had stopped wiggling around in her spot in the tub and watched her face, which was staring out at the couple.

"His name was Robert something or another, I don't even remember. I don't want to remember, I don't think. We went to dinner, somewhere fancy. He was a society boy, of course. Goes to Yale, too, I think, though I haven't seen him since. Then we went to some club. I had a lot to drink, I'm pretty sure, you know when I'm nervous, I just drink and drink and drink. And I'm a lightweight. Not a good combo."

"Oh, honey," Steph said, but Rory held up her hand. She knew if she paused she would never finish.

"It was so stupid. When I couldn't walk, he naturally, offered to drive me home. We hadn't even made it out the door before he attacked me or whatever you want to call it."

"Raped?"

Rory smiled, "No. He didn't get that far." She laughed. "I kneed him in the balls."

Steph laughed, "That's our Rory."

"It wasn't so much what he did, just like, the experience of it, you know?"

"It threw me off, I'm still off. I don't know how to fix it. And sometime I know, I'm just going to fall, and not be able to get back up."

"Oh, sweetie, no," Steph said, moving across the water to wrap her arms around her friend. "You know you won't let this keep you back for much longer. You're strong, you just have to push forward."

"How can I push forward when I'm on the ground?"

"Where does Logan fall in all of this, why do you hate him so much?"

"I don't hate him, but I don't need someone taking care of me."

"He's just trying to help."

"Look, I don't want to talk about this. Pass the cake."

Steph sighed and grabbed the plate next to her and handed it to her. Rory took the plate from her with a smile. "You're a good friend, Steph."

----------

"Steph, you here?" Colin's voice rang out in her house. Rory had finally gone back to her apartment after a week.

"Steph?" She was sitting at a table, her hands folded in front of her.

"It was Robert Carnegie."

"What? You're not making any sense." He sat down next to her, turning her to him.

"Rory, that night. It was Robert Carnegie."

She finally looked up, seeing Logan behind Colin, already moving out the front door.

"Oh crap, Rory. She'll know I told."

"Stay out of this, Steph." Logan said sharply, turning from the door. "You should have told me."

"She just told me, Logan," she said. "I'm not going to betray her like that."

"What'd he do to her?"

"You'll have to talk to her; I've already told you too much."

He shook his head. The door was left open, and he was gone.


	8. I Pray That Something Picks Me Up

(I pray that something picks me up)

It was an eerie calm in her room. The calm before the storm, one might say. She sat there at her desk, jeans and an old sweatshirt, her curled hair pulled up in a ponytail, tapping her feet to the sound of the Bangles from her stereo.

She jumped as her door slammed open. She turned to the intruder, or in this case, intruders.

"Robert Carnegie?" he yelled. Her eyes widened and her eyes shot to the two who had followed him.

"You told him?" Rory exclaimed at Steph, who was standing behind Colin as an innocent bystander.

"I-I didn't mean to!" she managed. "It just slipped out!"

"How?! A lobotomy?" Rory yelled.

Steph only rolled her eyes. "He was going to find out somehow. Robert is at almost all of our social things."

"He wasn't supposed to find out!" Rory screamed, the music now a mellow hum in the background of the noise. Everyone fell silent, and then, the tune of "Walk like an Egyptian" was all that was heard.

"Steph, Colin, can you give us a second?"

Rory pulled a hand through her hair, and Colin nodded and led his girlfriend out of her bedroom.

Logan shut the door behind them and turned to her. "Why wasn't I supposed to know?"

She laughed ironically. "Oh yeah, because that's what I wanted you to think of me. I'm the girl that almost got raped by Robert Carnegie, your lifelong friend and poker buddy."

He winced at the tone of her voice, an anger and bitterness he hadn't ever heard from her lips. "I actually don't like him that much. Kind of an ass, even more so now."

She stood up and flipped off the stereo, the room now filled with a sort of dull silence. She turned to look at him, her arms wrapped defensively across her chest. "Oh yeah, poor little Rory, can't even defend herself against," she seethed with anger for a minute, her mind blanking momentarily, "Robert Carnegie!"

"That's why you're mad? You think my opinion of you is going to change? Believe me, I've been with the worst of them; you're nothing like them."

She waved her hand. "It's not like it matters. You'll have a new girl next week and it's not as if we are anything exclusive. We're just…well, I don't even know what we are, except done with this conversation!" Her voice lowered. "We are done with this conversation."

They stood looking at each other, their gazes locked, neither backing down. "Please leave," she whispered.

"Were you really not going to tell me?" he asked, clearly astounded at the fact that she couldn't trust him with this.

"Well, Logan, frankly, I fail to see how this has anything to do with you!"

"When I'm the one who rescued you, drunk and throwing up all over the sidewalk, I think that has something to do with me."

She laughed, "Oh, that's great, Logan. You're my prince in shining armor and now it's like I owe you something. I don't. I didn't ask for your help."

She was so damn stubborn! Usually, it's something he likes about her, but now it's just frustrating. "I don't think it makes a difference now."

"Oh, and why is that?" she asked.

He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I already know the worst. Who it was."

She smiled wryly. "That's not the worst. What he did – what he tried to do, that's the worst. I don't care so much about the who, except I'd like to not see him again, but just what he did. It's so…wrong. It's just..." she trailed off, looking for an escape.

It was a change. The Change, he realized. This event seemed to alter her complete being, her chemical composition, the way her molecules were aligned, everything just changed within a three hour time period.

"Can I kill him?" he asked.

Her eyes narrowed, her hands shoved in her jean pockets. "No. I don't need my friend in jail."

"I have very good lawyers. And is that all I am?" he asked, stepping closer, lifting her downcast chin to pull her gaze to him.

Her voice remained firm, though her chin trembled under his touch, tears stinging her eyes. "We can't do this."

His arm lowered and her eyes met his. "I mean, you are playboy extraordinaire and me? I'm just some nerdy girl who would rather spend her time reading Bronte than go out clubbing. I'm not the girl for you. You're a great friend and I really appreciate that you've been here for me the past few weeks, but I just don't see how it's possible."

He stared at her in shock, though he really shouldn't have been surprised. Though, now that he thought about it, she was the first girl who had actually turned him down. And her reasons were legitimate, but there was still a little bit of resentment with her words. A slow simmer at the pit of his stomach, briefly reminding him that knowing her, and knowing him, that maybe something could be done.

"Well, then," he said, a small smirk playing on his lips, "I guess that was a first," he admitted.

She winced, "I'm sorry to be the first."

"I'm not," he replied honestly. She held up her finger as her cell phone rang.

"Hey, Mom. No, I'm not going tonight. She said I had to? Well, tell her I got a disease…mad cow sounds good." She frowned. "Fine, eight o'clock. Dress nice, I know."

She snapped her phone shut. "Sorry, family stuff."

"Big party tonight?"

"Uh, no. My grandma is having this big shindig for some charity. I don't know. Somehow I got roped into it. So, I'm sorry to say this, but you have to go. And you can't kill Robert."

He smiled. "I'll pick you up at seven."

Her head jerked up. "I just told you I'm going out."

"And I'll be there. Emily Gilmore is hosting the children's charity for leukemia and lymphoma, I know. My parents are going, thus I'm going. We can go together."

She shook her head, processing. "I just told you that we can't do this, Logan. Things are complicated enough."

"I'm not saying we're going to go as a date, having wild sex, and me ditch you in the morning. I'm saying I'll pick you up as a friend, and take you home at the end of the evening, as a friend. I live right across the street from you and it'd be pointless for us to drive separately."

She eyed him apprehensively. "Fine," she said, relenting. "Don't be late."

He smirked, whistling as he walked out the door. Yes, things were complicated. He now wanted to beat Robert Carnegie into a pulp, and if they happened to run into him tonight, there wouldn't be much to stop him.

And if Rory Gilmore didn't want to go out with him, well, he'd just charm his way into her heart the way she did his.


	9. Spin Around in the Highest Heels

(spin around in the highest heels)

"Rory, dear, I'm so glad you could come," Emily said between clenched teeth, knowing full well that Rory was here against her will.

Rory gave a small smile, trying to make her grandmother stop talking. Not possible, though, once Emily had seen just who was next to Rory in her entry way. Rory covered her eyes in exhaustion as she listened to Emily coo over her boy of choice.

"I didn't know you know the Huntzberger's, Rory."

"You saw us at the last party, Grandma. You know, we're going to go find Mom. We'll talk to you later."

Emily raised her champagne flute to her lips as she watched her granddaughter walk away, the boy's arm wrapped tightly around her waist, their faces turned to one another as he told her something.

Rory adjusted the thin strap of her black dress, her body turned to him unconsciously as she slid the material back up her shoulder and his grasp tightened. They didn't look like friends to Emily, but more like lovers. A married couple, almost. His grip seemed possessive, if not protective. Her manner seemed relaxed in his care, almost needing it. What did Shira Huntzberger think of this ordeal?

"Next thing I know," she mumbled, "She'll be telling me that I'm engaged to a scheming socialite pushing three hundred pounds."

"At least she'd tell you," he said with a smirk.

"As I pulled up my wedding disguised as a funeral, and that would be what I wish it was."

"At least you're optimistic about the whole ordeal."

"And you'd be the first one to give me away."

"I resent that," he said, handing her a champagne glass from the bar counter that they were now standing at. She smiled at him in thanks, blue eyes sparkling. The lights were dim, the magnificent ballroom packed with people.

It was strange, them being there together. Though, she really shouldn't have that so. While his looks were equivalent to a god's and his brains being almost smarter than her, his social standing was one she purposely avoided. And she was more of a plain jane; what did he want with her? She didn't know, and it bothered her. As the night wore on, she tried to shrug off the feeling of uncertainty and try to enjoy herself, though that being a hard feat, with the company of her grandparents and almost the whole of Hartford society.

Her arms were twined around his neck after Emily had forced them into dancing after the auction for the charity. It was some slow jazz song, the live singer's sultry voice echoing off the walls.

"This isn't so bad, is it?" he asked jokingly.

She cocked a perfectly plucked eyebrow, "The night's not over yet."

Logan turned when he felt someone tapping him on the shoulder. "May I cut in?" the voice of Robert Carnegie brought Rory back to reality from whatever la-la land she was in.

"I rest my case," she deadpanned as Logan glanced back at her worriedly.

"I think you should go, Robert."

"You know, Logan, I never pegged you as someone to go after someone else's leftovers. I guess our fair Rory here is an exception. Did she tell you about our night out?"

"Robert, I'm not against kicking the shit out of you at a children's auction. Hell, I might even take a pool as to who would win."

Robert ignored him, his eyes focused on Rory, "We had fun, didn't we, Rory?" He gave a small chuckle. "I personally didn't think it would be that easy-"

He didn't finish his sentence as Logan punched him in the jaw. "Logan!" Rory yelled. Robert rubbed his jaw momentarily before tackling Logan. She tried to wedge her way between the two, her palm flat on Logan's chest in attempt to hold him back.

He simply glared at her, "He tried to fucking rape you, Rory. He's an asshole just getting what he deserves." He lunged at Robert again but was held back by Colin, who had grabbed his forearms from behind.

"Let him go, man."

"You know what he did to her."

"I know, and he'll get it soon. Besides, I think he got a black eye and broken nose already from you."

"That's not enough," he said angrily.

Rory grabbed his tie, dragging him behind her to the bathroom. She was pissed, now, he noticed, as he followed. Not that he had much of a choice. She pulled him into a lavish bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

"What the hell were you thinking? Didn't I specifically tell you not to beat him up or kill him? I wasn't kidding!"

Logan ran a hand over his face tiredly. "I know, and I'm sorry. But Jesus, Rory, he's a letch who was going to use the dance as an excuse to grope you."

"I can take care of myself!" she yelled.

"Oh, right, like drinking yourself into oblivion or locking yourself in your room as you've done for the past few months."

"Fuck you, Logan. I didn't ask for your help, and I sure as hell don't need you beating up people for me. Why do you even care?!" she was still yelling.

"Because I do! Because I like you! Okay?! Is that so fucking hard to believe? Yes, Rory, somebody likes you. And yes, that person is someone you're not particularly fond of and from a different social niche than what you'd prefer, but tough. That's how it is. I like you." He ended on a low note, his voice dropping to mere talking as opposed to their earlier yelling escapade.

Her eyes went wide in shock before she pressed him against the perfectly painted bathroom wall of an exquisite mansion, her lips firmly on his. His mind blanked for a moment before registering what was happening. Was she kissing him? Before he could actually respond she had pulled away. His hands moved to her waist and he pulled her back to him fervently.

Her hands were in his hair, his on her waist as his lips nearly melded to hers. She pulled back and he smirked. "We should fight more often."

She smiled, then frowned, a manicured forefinger tracing around his eye. "You're getting a black eye."

He shrugged, "I'll be fine."

"Come on. We can go to your place because I'm sure you actually have edible food and ice there."

"You don't? You eat more than anyone else I know."

"Yeah, fast food and take out," she explained as they walked out of the bathroom the same way they had entered the party; his arm tightly around her waist.


End file.
